Page 5 of Trust Again
“I’m not going to find anybody naked in here, am I?” I asked, crossing the threshold with an uncertain step. Spencer hadn’t said a word since we’d gotten out of the car. He was quiet. Too quiet. He wasn’t messing around any more. The only thing that still seemed like normal Spencer was that he was still holding Watson in a headlock.
“No, I live by myself,” he said with a slightly cryptic smile. “And I only run around naked when the mood strikes me.” He raised his eyebrows, and I cracked a smile. Now that sounded like Spencer. He took my jacket and hung it in the closet before leading me down the hall to the living room.
Wow.
Gray walls, hardwood floors, and dark furniture with light accents filled the room. A huge L-shaped couch with patterned cushions divided the living room from the open dining area, which contained a large, rough-hewn wooden table with six chairs. I turned the corner and spied the kitchen. A groan escaped me.
“How could you?” I spun around.
He paused in the dining room, hands buried in his pockets.
I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “You know how much I love cooking! How could you have kept this from me?”
The new, built-in kitchen was the dream of any hobby chef—and the exact opposite of the dorm kitchen. A gas stove stood on the right side. On the polished countertop was a knife block that looked brand new. Above it hung a magnetic rail to which a metal spatula and other cooking utensils were stuck.
“May I ask you something, Spence?”
He lifted his eyebrows in assent.
“How come I’ve never been here? I mean, sometimes we all squeeze into Scott’s tiny apartment for a weekend, but this place is huge!” I swept my arm around. What an understatement! I could fit three of my dorm rooms in the living room alone.
He sighed. “The house belongs to my parents.”
That didn’t explain much.
“And?”
He chewed on his lower lip. “They’re kind of well-off. A student living in a place like this might come off as an ass.”
“You think we’d judge you because your parents have money?” I questioned him, incredulously.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Whatever. I still want to go out for a run. There’s juice in the fridge, and I’ll get you some water from downstairs,” he said quickly. “I think I might even have some Reese’s. They’re your favorite, right?” He crossed the kitchen and opened a cabinet, searching the shelves with a frown.
“Spence, it’s really okay.”
“Next time I’ll be prepared.” He shut the cabinet door and rubbed the back of his head. “Watson is on the coffee table. I thought the couch might be more comfortable than a dining room chair. Make yourself at home.”
He seemed restless, looking everywhere except at me. Then he turned and rushed out of the kitchen. His footsteps pounded down the stairs, and a door slammed shut. Stunned, I stared at the spot where he’d just been standing.
I snapped out of it when he reappeared wearing his running things. He acted like I wasn’t even there. After putting a bottle of water on the coffee table for me, he headed out, pushing in a pair of earbuds.
Only after the front door clicked shut did I dare to breathe again.
Apparently I’d crossed a line. I, who always insisted on sticking to the rules. I, who hated it when people dug into my past, had crossed a line with one of my best friends.
Dammit.
It took a while for me to get used to the soft pillows and the new setting. My thoughts kept going back to Spencer, but I tried to focus on my work again. I needed to write a few more words in order to meet my monthly goal. After waking Watson out of hibernation and putting my headphones back over my ears, I got back to work.
Jasper kept his hand on the back of my neck; his eyes were fixed on my face as he slowly pulled out of me and thrust back in. His hot breath hit my cheek, and I gasped as he ran his tongue along my throat. I pushed toward him, and he let loose a growl.
Pressed against the wall, I gasped, arching my back. Jasper drove me crazy. With every thrust he conquered me again, lifting me to a higher plane, from which I could no longer see the abyss.
Leaning back on the couch, I regarded my efforts. Almost done. A new story, almost ready for publication.
I was beyond thrilled to be able to make a living with my favorite hobby. Some students had to work for a pittance in factories, and others became waiters or tutors, like Allie.
But I wrote erotic stories.
